The Science of Colours
by ImNotAPsychopath
Summary: Little fic I wrote that I am fond of personally. You judge it yourself. Reviews are love


The Science of Colours

7-7-2012

John woke up to find Sherlock awake already and putting on a particularly fashionable outfit, making him furrow his brows in thought. Why was he always so fashionable? It couldn't be because he cared about fashion. That was too much of a human concern.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?" Sherlock turned to face him, chest still visible from his button-down shirt as his slim fingers nimbly put the buttons in their correct hole.

"Why are you so fashionable?"

Sherlock looked at him for a moment, eye twitching once before he regained his careful blank expression. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you always dressed so nicely?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, the memory flashing to him quickly before he could stop it.

_Sherlock was sitting in his favorite chair, debating something relating to an old case, when Mrs. Hudson had waltzed in and turned on the television without even a hello._

_He looked at her, one eyebrow quirked upwards. "What are you doing?"_

"_My favorite program is going to be on soon." She flicked through the channels swiftly, her thin fingers surprisingly quick for her age._

"_So you have to watch it on mine?"_

"_Mine is broken," she said distractedly, her gaze scanning through the shows. "If you let me watch it until I get my television fixed, I won't make you pay this month's rent."_

_Sherlock mulled this offer over for a moment. He wouldn't have to pay rent… but he'd have to sit through god knows what program she was talking about and have to at least pretend to be a normal human for however long the show was. Sherlock paused. But he wouldn't have to pay rent this month. He could use the money elsewhere. Like on his personal experiments._

"_Fine," he said. "But you have to cook dinner for me and you can't disturb me if I have a case or I'm working on an experiment."_

_This time Mrs. Hudson paused. She thought for a moment before nodding. "Deal."_

_And that was how hell began._

_For the next half an hour, Mrs. Hudson sat in the chair next to Sherlock's while he retreated to his sulking place—the couch._

_Finally, after listening to approximately 632 comments of things such as how right this Connie Prince woman was, or agreeing wholeheartedly with her, Mrs. Hudson turned off the television as the end credits played. Sherlock sighed in relief and stood up only to jerk back in surprise when he realized she was standing right next to him with a thoughtful expression on her face._

"_Mrs. Hudson, what's wrong?" Sherlock asked, slightly nervous at her actions._

_Her eyes were narrowed in thought as she continued to look at him. "You know, those colours don't really suit you, dear. They're far too loud." She looked at his plaid shirt critically and made disapproving clucking noises as she pinched the fabric between her thumb and first finger._

_Sherlock tilted his head in confusion. "And?"_

"_Well, Sherlock, Connie Prince—the woman from the television show that I was just watching—said that you should never wear plaid if you can help it. Especially if you have dark hair and pale complexion like you do."Mrs. Hudson explained. "It makes you look… well… homeless."_

_Sherlock looked at her in disbelief before sighing heavily. "And what am I supposed to do about it? I don't have any time to shop."_

_Mrs. Hudson brightened considerably. "If you'd like, I'll pick out your outfits. All you have to do is give me some money for the clothes."_

"_That's the point, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock exasperated. "I don't have the money to shop."_

"_I'll lower your rent so you can give me the money to buy you clothes."_

_Sherlock opened his mouth only to stop and think. Pros: Lowered rent, nicer clothes. Cons: … None._

"_Deal."_

"_Now you have to let me watch my show whenever I need it so that I can keep up with the latest fashions."Mrs. Hudson warned._

"_Fine, fine."_

_Oh how he regretted those rushed words._

"Sherlock!"

John's voice shook him out of the memory and he blinked as he turned to face him.

"Yes?" His voice was slightly hoarse but he quickly cleared his throat to get rid of the sound.

"Are you alright?" John looked at him in concern, brows slightly furrowed. "You sort of just zoned out there."

"Fine." Sherlock swallowed. "I'm fine."

John nodded before pausing.

"What?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

And with those two words, Sherlock walked swiftly out of the room before John could respond.

~End~


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